


cut my tongue (so i can't talk to you)

by abigailcathleen



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Coming Untouched, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigailcathleen/pseuds/abigailcathleen
Summary: When he opens the window, all he can get out is, “I threw out your note.”Billy is staring up at him, half-burned cigarette dangling from his lips. “Unlock the door.”Steve seethes at that, that Billy has the gall to say that. As if he hasn’t been making Steve miserable. As if he hasn’t been stringing Steve along. Hasn’t been standing him up. As if he doesn’t leave him alone and wanting in the sheets when he leaves.He should slam his window shut and go back to bed.Steve can’t do anything but go downstairs and let Billy in.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 13
Kudos: 161





	cut my tongue (so i can't talk to you)

When Steve hears the _ping_ of a rock hitting his bedroom window, he’s not exactly surprised. Billy’s never been one to just take no for an answer. 

Steve’s never really said that word specifically—no—but he’s said it in so many synonymous ways. It’s what he meant when he said _maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore_ as Billy let himself out of Steve’s room after Billy fucked him from behind. It’s what he felt when Billy stood him up three times in a row, leaving Steve cold and angry and somehow still _wanting_ as he curled up in the back seat of the Beamer, idling at the quarry. It’s what he thought he conveyed, loud and clear, when he found the note in this locker earlier that day with _i’m coming over at 11 make sure you’re ready for me_ written in Billy’s hasty scrawl, looked up to see Billy at his locker down the hall chancing a glance at him, then crumpled the thing and tossed it in the trash. 

Steve doesn’t know too much about Billy, but he knows enough about him to know he’s not stupid. So it’s not that he’s not hearing all this, but that he’s not listening. Choosing to ignore it. 

Another rock hits Steve’s window. Harder this time. 

Steve’s supposed to unlock the front door when Billy wants to come over. Tonight he made sure to use the deadbolt.

Steve pulls his covers over his head.

Another rock. _Ping._

Steve whips off the covers and goes to the window. Third times the charm. 

When he opens the window, all he can get out is, “I threw out your note.”

Billy is staring up at him, half-burned cigarette dangling from his lips. “Unlock the door.”

Steve seethes at that, that Billy has the gall to say that. As if he hasn’t been making Steve miserable. As if he hasn’t been stringing Steve along. Hasn’t been standing him up. As if he doesn’t leave him alone and wanting in the sheets when he leaves. 

He should slam his window shut and go back to bed. 

Steve can’t do anything but go downstairs and let Billy in. 

Billy’s through the door in a second. Steve can barely get the door shut before Billy’s got him by the collar of his t-shirt, shoving him up against the wall. 

Steve thinks Billy might actually punch him—it wouldn’t be the first time. Billy hasn’t hit him like that since before they started… whatever it is that they’re doing. Not that it hasn’t felt like it to Steve, though. Maybe this was the most natural progression of their relationship—same energy, different action. 

The sex is often rough and angry, like Billy has something to prove, to Steve or to himself or someone else. Steve doesn’t like to think about that part, so he hasn’t, not until recently. He was fine having a warm body pressed up against his, someone who would touch him and say filthy things into his ear and take him to the heights of pleasure. He was content to close his eyes and let it happen and turn his head when Billy left him right after. For a while, it was fine. It was fine before Steve’s stupid heart got caught up in it and got broken too many nights in a row. 

Billy doesn’t punch him, though. Just leans in close to Steve’s ear, hands still clutching at his collar, body pressing his into the wall. “Don’t leave me waiting next time.” Billy releases him then heads upstairs, doesn’t even turn to see if Steve’s following. 

Steve doesn’t want to follow him. It feels like to follow him up there is to betray himself. His mind yells at him over and over again to stop letting himself be used, that this doesn’t have to happen again. But his body knows no logic. 

Billy’s already lounging on Steve’s bed, naked on top of the sheets, cock hard and flushed against his stomach. He’s smoking a cigarette even though Steve’s told him time and time again that he hates it when he smokes inside. 

The rooms thick with smoke and Billy’s arrogance, which seems to fill up every room he enters. Steve hates it, he _hates_ it, yet he can’t help but love it, how it makes him feel special that he gets invited into it. 

“Take off your clothes and get over here,” Billy says, stubbing out his cigarette unceremoniously on the bare wood of Steve’s bedside table. 

It’s forceful and loud and intoxicating, Billy’s presence. When they’re together, Steve feels suffocated by it, choked to death by it. It’s terrible—yet it’s _nice,_ nice to feel surrounded, touched, _held._ Steve tells himself over and over that that’s not what this is, will never _be_ what this is, and it hurts so _bad_. But then Billy will get back up in his space again and then it hurts so _good._

So he does what Billy says, like he always does. Strips his clothes and lets them fall in a heap on the floor before he crawls into the space where Billy’s legs are spread. Billy’s hand coming up to fist in Steve’s hair and push him down is of no surprise to Steve. The sting on his scalp is sharp and familiar. 

Billy’s warm and velvety in Steve’s mouth, on his tongue. Billy sets the pace, like he always does, guiding Steve up and down the way he likes it. Steve’s learned to be open and pliable, to relax his jaw and let Billy do what he wants. When he does it like this, Billy will kiss Steve after, licking the come from Steve’s lips. It’s the closest Billy ever gets to some sort of tenderness, and Steve craves it, even just those fleeting moments. Does whatever he can to get it to happen. 

This time, though, Billy’s unrelenting with the way he forces Steve up and down, pushing Steve down on his cock for a few seconds too long so Steve gags around him. Tears burn in his eyes as Billy does it over and over. All Steve can do is dig his fingers into Billy’s thighs, desperate to cling to something stable. 

Steve’s embarrassed by the noises coming from him, the wet sounds of Billy fucking his throat. Billy seems to be getting off on it, unabashed in the moans and obscenities that fall past his lips. 

Billy tugs Steve off his cock with a harsh pull. Steve can feel how slick his lips are with spit, can feel how it’s all over his chin. He wants to say something to Billy but he can barely _breathe_ and is thankful to be able to gasp in some breaths. 

Steve realizes this is the first time he’s really looked Billy in the eyes all night, when he lifts his gaze. Billy looks like he usually does, devious and horny and furious, but his eyes are darker tonight, and it’s not just because of the shallow light of the room. Steve notices the black eye forming and the split lip that’s still kind of bleeding, stares at it a little too long while he heaves with quick breaths. 

Billy tugs at Steve’s hair again, forcing Steve to lift his chin. “Get on your knees for me.” Billy tugs again and tears spring at the edges of Steve’s eyes once more. “ _Now._ ”

Billy lets Steve go and moves off the bed to get the lube Steve keeps in his bedside table. Steve gets into the familiar position—bracing himself on his elbows, spreading himself open and vulnerable for Billy. Steve craves to be spread out softly in the sheets, sometimes, Billy’s forehead hanging over his, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths. Because this has never been about what he wants, he thinks, and this time the tears sting at his eyes for a different reason. No, this is about what _Billy_ wants. This is about what Steve gets. Maybe, Steve starts to think, this is about what he deserves. 

He’s brought back to the room when Billy’s weight shifts the bed, where he’s behind Steve. His hands grip around Steve’s cheeks and _spread_ him and Steve wants to squirm at the exposure. 

He hears Billy sigh, loud and dramatic like most things he does. “Didn’t get ready for me like I asked,” he says, before _spitting_ on Steve’s hole. This time Steve can’t help but to squirm, to wince at the _shame_ it makes him feel. How _gross_ and _good_ it is. 

Steve burns when Billy all but shoves two fingers inside of him. Billy wastes no time in working Steve open, he never does, but tonight it’s harsher, mostly dry and entirely unforgiving. The way Steve’s moaning at the intrusion feels even more embarrassing than his choked off noises from before. He doesn’t want to like it, the pain, but he thinks that Billy’s taught him to. He can’t stop even though he wants to, so he presses his face into the pillow to muffle the sound. 

But Billy’s hand is back in his hair and tugging him back up while he works a third finger into Steve. “Not so fast, princess. Wanna hear you.” 

Steve is _helpless_ to listen when Billy pulls a pet name, and Billy _knows_ that. It makes Steve hot with anger for a moment but then Billy’s hitting that spot inside him and Steve _keens,_ he can’t help it. Billy thrusts his fingers in and out with abandon and Steve acquiesces, letting Billy pull those noises from him over and over. 

When Billy pulls his fingers out, it feels both like a moment and an eternity before he’s pressing his slicked up cock against Steve’s entrance. Steve’s so turned on, reluctance melting out of his ears to make way for a heady fog of lust. When Billy presses in, Steve pushes back, bringing them together sharp, pulling surprised moans from both of them. 

Steve loves being filled up like this—unable to tell where Billy ends and he starts. Steve craves this closeness, this heat, this connection. Even when Billy’s late or angry or detached, there’s something about this feeling that makes it all worth it to Steve. 

Billy’s got his fingers tight on Steve’s hips while he pounds into him, over and over, unrelenting. The sound of their bodies coming together fills the room with harshness, and Steve tries to sync his breaths with it to keep himself afloat. With Billy, there’s no build-up—there is only release.

“You like taking me like this, don’t you?” Billy growls. 

Billy knows how to play Steve just right in every single way—on the basketball court, in the backseat of the Camaro. Like this is no different. He works himself into Steve just right, hitting his prostate with every severe thrust. It’s so good, almost _too_ good, that Steve is _whining_ , hates that he sounds just like the _brat_ that Billy tells him he is sometimes. 

It’s unexpected when Billy brings his hand down on Steve’s ass _hard_ and says, “ _Don’t_ you?”

Steve’s moaning out a long _yes_ when his orgasm hits him, the tightness in his stomach giving way to harsh relief. Billy’s still pounding into him when it crests, when the shame starts to creep in, even more pointed tonight than usual. Steve wants to curl in on himself under the sheets but Billy’s still _going._

“ _Fuck,_ turn over,” Billy demands when his hips start to stutter. He pulls out of Steve in one fluid motion and Steve gasps at the emptiness, but he’s cut off when Billy forcibly flips him onto his back and gets his cock back between his open lips. 

Billy’s jerking off against Steve’s mouth and Steve is helpless but to lie there and take it when Billy spills over his lips and down onto his tongue. 

What’s maybe the most surprising is how Billy crouches down once he’s finished to get his mouth on Steve in the messiest excuse for a kiss. Steve just leaves his lips slack and open as Billy licks over him. Billy rests his head on Steve’s for a moment so brief it almost wasn’t there. Steve wants to tug him back and keep him there, hand on the back of Billy’s head like Billy’s was on his, but different. But Billy’s out of reach in a second, pulling back enough that Steve can see the come and fresh blood from his split lip smeared across Billy’s lips before he’s dragging the back of his hand through it to wipe it away. 

“Door better be unlocked next time,” Billy says flatly before climbing off the bed, and Steve knows in the pit of his stomach that it will be. Steve just breathes through it, unmoving like he’s trying not to spook him, when Billy gets his clothes back on, lights another cigarette, and leaves. 

When he hears the roar of the Camaro’s engine, he grabs tissues from his bedside table to wipe his face, and the tissue comes back smeared with come and traces of blood. He drops it to the floor and crawls under the cool sheets, curls them tight around his body and curses himself for imagining it’s the warmth of Billy pressed along his back. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'your love is killing me' by sharon van etten.
> 
> i wanted to 1) write something ~out of my comfort zone~ (fluff lol) and 2) 'round out the year with a nice even 10 fics on ao3. soooo hope you enjoyed??? lol
> 
> [abigailcathleen](https://abigailcathleen.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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